


my bloody hands and I

by asiren (meliorismo)



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel (Comics), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Character Study, Elektra-centred, F/M, Major The Defenders spoilers, Minor Daredevil s02 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 08:37:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11870616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meliorismo/pseuds/asiren
Summary: Elektra touched her lies and found them lacking.





	my bloody hands and I

**Author's Note:**

> this work is a mess of tv show canon, comics canon, headcanon and poetic license. sorry in advance. it said, this fic has major spoilers to the defenders and minor spoilers to daredevil s02. enjoy

**my bloody hands and i**

 

_'Farewell to barn and stack and tree,_

_Farewell to Severn shore._

_Terence, look your last at me,_

_For I come home no more._

_[...]_

_'And here's a bloody hand to shake,_

_And oh, man, here's good-bye;_

_We'll sweat no more on scythe and rake,_

My bloody hands and I.

[A. E. Housman]

 

**i.**

It was dark in Elektra’s room. She wished she could light up one of the led lamps, but she was too afraid to do so. The night before, one of the other girls on the orphanage asked for more blankets; she didn’t get none, and all they did was beat her. Elektra was young and small, only 4 years old. The older children even thought her too little to bother; they mostly gave her advice over surviving at the orphanage, really. Some of them used to think of her as a pet. She had a room to herself, and even if it was minuscule it was more than a lot of the children could say for themselves. They used to give her a little of their food, too. If she was still hungry after lunch.

She was liked, kind of. Liked the way a little girl, inoffensive and sad, could be by older children. A baby sister. Some of them used to have siblings before. Some of them cried themselves to sleep over that.

Not Elektra.

She was hugging a small doll, a piece of a thing she was holding when they founded her. Elektra liked to sleep with it and think about home, wherever it was. They called her greek; they called her cambodian. They called her a lot of things. One of the girls told her that it must be because she was mixed-blood. She was 4 years old and had no idea what that meant.

There were voices coming from the other side of the door. She pretended to be asleep, as fast as she could; the steps faded away, and she was once again in the middle of silence.

Her doll’s name was Christina. It was in the note attached to her snip dress. Elektra didn’t bother herself trying to figure out what that meant. It was just nice to have something to call her doll, that was also the only thing in the immensity of the world that belonged to her.

_Elektra_ , the director had said to her the night before. _There’s someone who are going to take you away from here._ Elektra had looked at her, confused. She was small and didn’t really see anything above the table. She looked at the director’s feet instead, and not her face. The director sighed. _It looks like you have family._

Elektra hugged her doll, so tightly she was worried Christina wouldn’t be able to breath. Family.

She had no idea what that meant.

 

**ii.**

Elektra looked at the sun, kind of, trying to determine what time that was. The air was warm and immobile around her, and she was dreaming about water and, if God was willing, some rest. Stick was inside that stupid tent for at least twenty minutes. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.

She wondered what Matthew was doing.

“Elektra!” Stick yelled from inside the tent. She didn’t turn to see if he was looking at her; she didn’t care. “Are you going to stay out there all day, kid?” She sighed. Why couldn’t he leave her alone, that was the true mystery of life. She thought, for a crazy, crazy second, of start walking and don’t look back. It would be nice, wouldn’t it? She could find Matthew, wherever he had chose to live his life. He would want her back. She knew he would. She had left, but the magic of it wasn’t coming back?

She turned her back to the sun, and to the bodies. They would have to leave soon, very soon. The Hand would be there before nightfall.

She entered the tent, and looked at Stick. He was trying to make fire, probably to cook something for them to eat before the trip. Elektra wasn’t hungry. She hadn’t been hungry since she was nineteen.

“What are you making?” she asked, her voice mild.

“Fish”, Stick answered her. Elektra wanted to murder him right there, over the stupid fish. He knew she hated those fucking things.

She didn’t say anything for a while, and neither did Stick. They sat there, around the fire, trying to reach each other, but the bridge was long gone. Burned to the ground when she smiled at Matthew the last time, before waiting for him to go to college so she could disappear. Stick’s orders. Elektra was stupid enough to follow them at the time.

“When are we leaving?” She asked him, finally. The elephant in the room — one of many. One down, three hundred to go. Stick didn’t look at her, and she was grateful. She didn’t want to see what his face would say. _Naive Elektra,_ maybe. _She still thinks this war is going to have an end._

“As soon as we eat the fish”, he told her. “The Hand will be here fast.”

She nodded. You couldn’t — shoudn't — trust Stick for a lot of things, but he was always right about the Hand. Maybe she shouldn’t be impressed, though. Maybe it was his duty to know, after all these years. After dragging so many _children_ to fight his war.

Elektra didn’t say anything.

Why should she?

 

**iii.**

Elektra rose her head when she heard the sound of paces. She saw the cane first, and then the little boy that Stick had kind of bought home two weeks prior. He looked scared, maybe, but determinate. He always looked like that, even when the other kids played cruel games of scaring the blind child. Elektra kicked them because of that, when the new boy couldn’t hear her. She didn’t want him to think she was his friend, but she didn’t want him to be bullied. She was hating the indecision and wished he could go back to his home. He didn’t live there. He, unlike Elektra, had some real family to come back to. A father, she heard him saying. And a dog.

“Who is there?” the boy asked, and Elektra sighed. She wouldn’t be the dumb mean kid who refuses to announce herself when a blind person asks. She liked to think she was a lot of things, part of them really bad, but not an insensitive bully.

“It’s Natchios”, she said to him. “Elektra.”

“The greek girl.”

“Is this how they are calling me out there?”

“Uh, they aren’t calling you anything”, the boy told her, awkwardly. “I think they are scared of you.”

“Are they really?”

He nodded. “Yes.” And then, the boy paused. If he was a puppy, she would have seen his ears rise up, interested. “Are you Stick’s daughter? He is kind of cool.”

Elektra laughed. He looked uncomfortable, but stubborn. “No, I’m not. Who are saying this kind of things to you, I can’t even imagine. But he… Kind of adopted me, when I was a child.”

“You are still a child”, the boy said. “And adopted is still daughter.”

“Look, he didn’t adopt me to be family. I’m not his daughter. And”, she added with pride. “I’m not a child anymore. I’m already nine.”

“Well”, the boy told her. “Still sounds pretty child-y to me.”

“Who are you, anyway?” she asked, angrily. Elektra was regretting every single time she ever stood up for this brat.

“Well, my name is Matthew”, he answered, kind of small. “Matthew Murdock. But everyone calls me Matt.”

“Oh, really? Then it’s nice to meet you.” she managed to make the pause sound so patronizing, she was really proud of herself. “ _Matthew._ ”

 

**iv.**

“Forgive me, Father”, she said to her hands. She couldn’t see the face of the man sitting on the other side of the punctured-thing, because of its structure and because of the black veil she was wearing to cover her face and hair. She was glad that it was the case. “For I have sinned.”

“Tell me, my daughter”, the elderly voice said. “What have you done?”

“I need guidance, Father.” she answered. “I have done so many things, but only one is bothering me now. Well, one, and all the little ones that helped put me in this position. I made a decision, Father. But I don’t know if is the right one.”

“You have to tell me, child, of your struggle. I can’t tell you anything without knowing what is your sin.”

“I’m leaving my husband.” she murmured. “God may never forgive me, but all I want is what is best for him.”

“For God?”

“For my husband. His name—” she paused, breathed deeply. “His name is Matthew.”

“Do you love your husband, child?” the voice asked her.

“More than anything in my life”, she answered to him, so softly.

“Did he do you wrong?”

“He did never do me wrong once in this whole decade we’ve known each other. He loves me, as certain as the sun rises. Father, you don’t understand. The trouble isn’t him; the trouble is with _me_.”

“Daughter, what are you doing? You don’t want to leave him, and you say he is a good spouse. You say he never did you wrong. You say he loves you. What’s the matter?”

“Father”, she spoke, small. “I’m an evil woman. I'm going to end up dragging him to hell with me. You have to believe me. The things I have done—” she sighed. “I’m a soldier, and the war I’ve been fighting most of my life is calling me back. I don’t want to drag Matthew to this mess. He would come, if I asked; that’s why I can’t do that. You’re right, Father, and he is a good husband. That’s why I must disappear.”

“Child, if you’re truly a soldier and all you want is to do your duty, then why can’t you just go to the battlefield and, with the infinite grace of God, may come home alive to your family and friends? Why must you isolate yourself?”

“They want him to go”, she told the voice. “He could die. He is in college now; wants us to have a life. It isn’t part of him anymore. But, Father. Father. This is still part of _me_.”

“Daughter”, the voice coughed. “You are making things harder on yourself than they need to be.”

“I’m not”, Elektra insisted.

“You came here for my guidance, and my guidance I’ll give you, with the help from the Holy Spirit and Our Grace Holy Mary. Go back to your husband, daughter. Go back to your home. You’re young, and scared. You came here seeking help. Go home, and pray. Pray to God elevate your soul, and this feelings may disappear.”

She stood there, in silence, for what felt like hours. Then, she said. “Thank you, Father.”

“God bless you, child.”

(she walked the nine blocks till the bus stop, got on the first one on the right direction and arrived home before matthew. she went to their bedroom, took her clothes, left a message on the telephone and then she was out in the streets, taking a cab.

she took her wedding ring with her).

 

**v.**

She was sitting on the most uncomfortable chair of the living room. There were hushing voices coming from behind the door, but she didn’t let herself take a look, and certainly did not let herself lean against the wall to hear what was being said. She had some dignity left. Even after all these years, Elektra still had dignity left. And pride. She used both of them to keep her warm at night.

“She broke his arm in three places”, one of the voices became suddenly higher than the others. Shushing sounds, and then nothing. Silence. She was there, still trying to listen, when Matthew appeared on the window, waving at her. _Come here_ , he mouthed. She looked at the door, apprehensive. _You have to leave,_ she mouthed back. Then, she felt really stupid. He wouldn’t see her, not enough to get what she was saying. Elektra thought that maybe _that_ was Matthew’s plan all around: she would have to go there to send him his way.

“You have to leave”, she repeated when she opened the window. “They are behind that door, discussing my fate.”

“What did you do anyway? It couldn’t be that bad. They are treating you like a low criminal.” he said, indignant. Elektra wanted to say to him to don’t have so much faith on her. She was going to inevitably let him down. She didn't speak the words, though. How could she?

“I broke this guy’s arm”, she answered. “In three places.”

“Why did you do that?” he asked, and there was no judgment on his voice. Matthew’s was sure that whatever Elektra had done, was for a reason. She loved him, at that moment. Maybe that was the first time she really did love him.

“We were fighting.”

“For real?”

“No.” she leaned against the window. “One of Stick’s stupid stage fights.”

“Then why did you do that?” he asked, curious. Elektra sighed.

“I lost control. They said that I’m violent.”

“Everyone here is violent. My dad is a boxer and even I can see that.”

“No, they say I’m _more_ violent than the others. That I’m dangerous.”

“Well, they had it coming.”

“What?”

“They treat you like a weapon! Now they are unhappy that you’re a little light-trigger. It just sounds dumb to me.”

“Do you think so?”

“Yeah, I do.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Matthew. For being on my corner.”

“You welcome, Elektra. Always.”

 

**vi.**

She couldn’t remember anything. There was just this blank, and this one name. _Elektra._ People were calling her that, but she couldn’t understand why — and her head hurted so much. Everyone wanted something from her, and she could give nothing to them. She wanted to give nothing to them. She was tired of people telling her what to do.

She wandered, all around that city that didn’t make any sense. All around those shops, and houses, and neon lights. They were like a picture she saw once, something she could almost, _almost_ remember, but that she didn’t thought important at the time. She ended up at an apartment.

There were pictures of her on the wall.

Some of them were labelled, _Elektra 09/07_ or _Summer Vacation 2009_ or _Bob the Dog and Elektra at the beach_ , but a lot of them weren’t. She looked young in some of them, like a teenager or a child, and an adult in others, more recent, her face sharper and her eyes blunter. _Matthew, sleeping, 2015_. The handwriting was familiar; after a few seconds staring, she recognized it as her own. There were others, framed ones, of a woman smiling, of a couple kissing, of two people on a picnic, of a wedding day. She looked at herself, appearing so bright and happy. Her dress was white and she was wearing flowers on her hair. Daisies, perhaps. She was maybe eighteen when they got married.

That was a long time ago.

She left the wall and wandered to the bedroom, the grey sheets on the couple-sized bed. Everything there smelled dusty, as if the person who owned that place didn’t spent a lot of time there. _I wouldn’t, too,_ she thought, _if my walls were full of pictures of a dead woman._

She lie down anyway. She was so very tired, and the framed picture on the night stand was hers.

 

**vii.**

“Where are we going?” Elektra asked, laughing. She couldn’t see anything because she had close her eyes when Matthew asked her to. She didn’t care, though. She was seventeen and didn’t have a single care on the world.

“You’re going to see”, Matthew answered her, somewhere at her side. He was laughing too.

They walked for a dubious ground for a little more than six minutes. She was glad that Stick was so crazy-controlling-awful because her balance was one hundred per cent (she would have fell two-minutes in, and ruined the whole date idea). Finally, they stopped, and she could open her eyes. It was a park. There was a lake.

“Where are we?”

“Uh”, Matthew said, self consciously. “I asked myself what was the most mundane date someone could ever have, something so very far away from our life that it would be nice and warm and safe? Then someone I know suggested a picnic on the park. I wanted you to go away, Elektra.” he smiled. “Just for a little while, and we could be normal people.”

“Mundane people?”

“Yeah. Do you like it?”

Elektra looked at him, her boyfriend, who thought of shit like this. Who took her to meet his father when they were nine. Who made her go to church every sunday. Who said he would always be on her corner.

“Matthew”, she said. “I _love_ it.”

“Did you really?”

“Yeah.”

“Great," he grinned at her. "because I have food.”

 

**viii.**

Elektra was standing by the window, looking at the New York sky. Matthew was staring at her, as if seeing a ghost. Elektra couldn’t hold it against him; what do you do when your ex wife, who abandoned you with nothing more than a voice mail, shows up inside your apartment as if nobody’s business? It has been almost six years.

“What are you doing here?” he asked her, finally, his voice tired. She was really a ghost — _his_ ghost, on top of that.

“I don’t assume you know what I’ve been up to.”

“I stopped asking myself what you could be possibly doing that was worth lefting your home in the middle of the afternoon when I was twenty two.”

“It’s been awhile, Matthew.”

“Yeah. It’s been six years.”

“It’s our birthday today”, she said to him, suddenly. He looked at her as if she was crazy.

“I know that”, Matthew answered, bitter. “I’ve known that… Forever. It never made you appear before, Elektra. Why now?”

“I was sent here.”

“By who?”

“Stick.”

“Are you still listening to that old man?”

“No.” she told him. “Yes. It is complicated. There is the war.”

“There were always the war, Elektra. What changed was only your perception of it.”

“Matthew—”

“Isn’t it a little cruel?”

“What?”

“You.”

“ _What._ ”

“You show on my apartment”, he said, so bitterly,  and he never spoke to her like that, not once in all those years they knew each other. As if she was the enemy. “after six years of radio silence, on our wedding birthday nothing less, with zero apologizes and inviting me to Stick’s crusade. I knew you were a lot of things, Elektra”, he added, venomously. “and I never minded many of them. But cruel is a new one; a new look just for you. And I don’t know if I can say it doesn’t suit you at all.”

“Matthew!”

“I want you to leave, Elektra. I really do. And please tell Stick to go fuck himself.”

 

**ix.**

She was walking down the street, trying to keep her blouse neat enough to cover up the bandages that were hugging her whole torso. It had gone badly, that last job. She could have been killed. It was funny because it was always like that, really, but this time felt so different. Her wedding ring, gold and plain, weighed ten thousand pound on her finger. She didn’t took it off, not once since she started wearing it. Elektra liked the reminder. Once upon a time, she had a family.

The café at the other side of the street was small and cozy, with customers coming and going. She didn’t enter, because she wasn’t there because of bad coffee. Or bad tea. Elektra stood close to the window, the one who took the whole left wall and allowed you to see the street — if you were sitting on one of the little tables —, or the café — if you were outside. She tried to look nonchalant. It could have been difficult, once, but this time was long gone, and she was a woman made of shadows now. They wouldn’t care if she was there, immobile, barely breathing. They had thought her unimportant, transitory.

She was tied to the ground; couldn’t move. All her right side sent waves of pain over her whole body. It was like she was being beaten up all over again. She should be on a bed, resting. For a week, maybe. Even so, she couldn’t make herself regret the trip there.

On the small table, closest to the window, drinking bad coffee and making some vitamin D with all that sun, was sitting her husband. Ex husband. Lover, ex lover. Someone she used to know. Someone she used to love.

She still loved him. That was so sad, but that was why she was there. To just look, a little. _That was my life_ , she thought. _And I gave it all up for infinite years of war._

She touched the window, so very softly, praying to God that Matthew would realize that she was there, that he would want her to come home, that he would convince her that everything was going to be alright, and that weapon wasn’t all she ever was. He didn’t, though. Didn’t knew she was there. He was so very busy with his fancy braille book from his brand new career on law school.

Elektra wanted to know if he was still wearing her ring. She couldn’t bear the knowledge, though, so she left before she could get a glimpse of his left hand.

 

**x.**

_What time is it_ , she asked herself. She was wandering around the cemetery for two hours now, the bookmark with her name ( _I_ _n the loving memory of Elektra Natchios_ ) crushed between her fingers. Her empty fingers. Where was the yellow ring she used in the pictures on Matthew’s house? Where was the plain white engagement ring she exhibited proudly in one of the pictures? That one must be long lost. In the photos labelled 2015, she only used the wedding one.

She walked between the tombstones, looking for something, _anything._ There was no one who could help her; not with this, not with anything. She shall see the truth for herself. She shall touch the lies she built her new life around and feel them lacking.

Elektra — that was her name — remembered when she was a small child, terrified and alone. She remembered the promises of family and happiness that drove her away from Greece. She remembered her doll, with the same name as her mother. Christina Natchios. She remembered her too — from pictures. Christina died of childbirth. Elektra killed her.

_Do_ _you love me?_ , she used to ask Matthew, in the silence of their bed, when she was sure he couldn’t hear her. _Do you love me for what I am?_

The beat of the quiet. _Will you always be on my corner?_

She stopped in front of her grave. It was made of white marble, and there were red roses fading slowly on the ground. There also was others of the same kind making it company, as if someone went there two times a week, maybe more, and left her flowers. It must have been Matthew. She couldn’t think of anyone who would care so much.

_Elektra Natchios_. _1991_ — _2016\. Beloved friend and wife_ , it said. _Thy God has claimed thee as his own._

She stared at it, willing it to change. The words remained the same, full of dignity and love. It was the grave of woman who were loved; a woman whose life mattered to someone. Not a grave of a weapon, but a grave of a _friend._ A best friend. A wife.

She touched her lies and found them lacking.

 

**xi.**

“All you have to do”, Matthew told her. They were ten. “Is fold the paper in half, on both the horizontal and vertical axis. You have to crease well and then unfold.” he demonstrated to her, serious.

“And then what?” Elektra asked him.

"You have to fold the top right and left to the centers, like this." he continued. "So now you can see the colored part. And then you fold the bottom edge to the center, too."

"It kind of looks like a triangle."

"Yeah, Elektra, it has to look like that." he said, patronizing. "Now you fold the bottom edge upwards again."

"And then it's a boat."

"You go and fold the paper in half on the vertical axis, and crease very well because you will have to unfold." he was very determined, and Elektra found it kind of endearing. She was still a little sad, though. That was probably why Matthew was teaching her origami. "And that's it, that's one of the modular unit-thing. We have to make six more, I guess. And then we glue all of it together."

"To make what?"

"Well, Elektra, what else? A crown."

“A crown?”

“Yeah! For you.”

“Why would you make me a crown?”

Matthew smiled. “You need one! Because every pretty girl has some of those. That was what my dad said. And you don’t have none, probably because Stick kind of suck at this, so. I’m making you one, and teaching you how, then you will have as many crowns you want. Even when I’m away.”

“You think I’m pretty? That is a little forward.” she said, smug. She heard one of the older girls using that word the day before.

“I don’t think you’re pretty”, he answered her, indignant. “I think you’re the _prettiest._ ”

“Do you, really?”

“What can I say? I’m always with you on your corner.”

 

**xii.**

They were laying on the bed, on the only clean sheets of the whole house. The yellow ones. Matthew hated them, because of his red-colored-vision. He used to say that it made Elektra looks like she was bleeding out. Unfortunately, they didn’t made laundry as they should, and now that was the only one left. And both of them were so very tired of sleeping on dirty sheets.

“What are you thinking about?”, Matthew asked her, softly. The sun was entering the room, fragmented because of the curtain. The dust floated around, light on the air. It was like a dream, Elektra thought. But it was her life now.

“I’m thinking that I’m happy”, she answered him. “And that I will always be.”

“How can you know that?” he smiled. “Forever is such a long time.”

“I don’t want to be cheesy”, she laughed. “but isn’t it the wonder of marriage? Never be alone again.”

“My presence is all it takes to make you happy?”

“Well, yes.” she looked at him from under her lashes, lazily. “I wouldn’t have marry you otherwise.”

“I’m glad.” he said, rolling one lock of her hair between his fingers. “Because I feel the same way.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“You’re so catholic, Matthew.” she laughed at him. “ _You_ wouldn’t marry _me_ otherwise.”

He grinned, looking young. She loved him. She loved him so much.

She wanted to crawl into that feeling and live there forever.

 

**xiii.**

The building was collapsing all around them. They were inside the dragon structure, fighting and fighting and fighting. She was so very tired, but she had to keep on. It was the only thing she knew how to do.

“You should have gone with your friends”, she told him, between a punch and a kick.

“Why would I?” he answered her, mild. He was very good at fighting as a general, but he was even better at fighting with her. He knew Elektra Natchios better than he knew himself, even this one sad, alone version of her. Her heart didn’t beat, but she was still alive.

“To get out of here still breathing”, she said.

“Were you planning to stay here?”

“Oh, always.”

“Then I wouldn’t ever have left.” he smiled at her, so very sadly.

She glared at him, angry, and kicked him on the ribs. She was tired of her feelings, of _his_ feelings, of people messing with her, confusing her head. “ _Why_.”

“I’ve been loving you since I was nine, Elektra. I promised you _forever_.” he got up. “And, you know what? Forever is really such a long time to spend alone.”

“You should have gone with your friends.” she repeated.

“No.” he answered her, blood on his lower lip. “I should have stayed here with my wife.”

“To die with her?”

“ _Elektra._ ” he looked at her, sad sad sad. “I’m tired of living this life without you.”

“You’ll lose me again.”

“Yeah, that’s true. But this time I’ll not be the one that is left behind.”

She stared at him, exhausted. He looked like shit, and she was bleeding everywhere. The building was collapsing. She walked the steps between them and hugged him. “I’m sorry— I really am— for all the pain I caused you along the way.”

“It’s okay. Hey", he was kind of sobbing, maybe. "It's okay. I would choose you every time.” he sighed, and she felt it as if it were her own sigh, as close they were standing. “We are going to die soon.”

“No, Matthew.” she smiled. “You’re wrong, my love.”

( _this is what feels like to be living_ )

**Author's Note:**

> how to make a crown origami? the kid version: http://www.origami-instructions.com/easy-origami-modular-crown.html


End file.
